May The Walls Run Red
by SherlockDW2013
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a Vampire and he has a lust towards his flatmate, John Watson, but holds himself back. After a Case, he can't any longer. John is terrified of the situation and he shoots Sherlock, seeing it as the only option. The last thing he sees is his dying friend. But the next day he wakes up, what scares John the most is that Sherlock is ALIVE. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything but the Story. The rest is Copyright of the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

**This is based and Inspired by a FanArt on deviantart. The creator is called sonxfanchara and the piece is called '+Slayer+'**

It was the Winter of 2014; Sherlock –and John- had nearly solved a Case. Men's dead bodies had been turning up naked, bloody, bruised and showing obvious signs of Rape. But the thing that disturbed everyone the most was the fact that they were all missing enormous amounts of blood. It had taken a few hours for Sherlock to solve it, but when he did, he rushed back to the Flat he and John shared.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed and burst into 221B Baker Street "I know where the murderer is!" He paused at the silence of the flat.

"John?" he said, quietly. His eyes narrowed at the mess before him and as an unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. He growled, someone had been in the flat. His eyes caught onto scratches on the floor and he kneeled over them, running a hand over them.

_Heel marks. Someone had been dragged across the floor. Weighed about 126 pounds, and were approximately 1.65 metres high. _

Sherlock's eyes caught onto small specks of blood on the floor, he wiped a finger on it and placed it in his mouth. His head snapped up. The blood was fresh. No more than an hour. And the blood belonged to only one person.

_John_  
He was out of the door before he even finished the thought.

It had taken around half an hour to pick up John Watson's scent. And then from there, finding the doctor was a walk through the park. Sherlock silently entered the empty building; John's scent was stronger here. He was definitely in the right place.  
He crawled silently through the empty corridors, following his friends smell. He came across a room where light emitted from a single bulb on the ceiling. He had found John. He appeared to be talking with a man. Sherlock waited in the shadows for a few moments longer, curious on how this would turn out

"Just you wait…" John rasped, obviously in pain.

_Blow to the Head_ Sherlock assessed

"Sherlock will come for me" It touched Sherlock's dead heart on how loyal his dear Army Doctor was.

"Why are you so optimistic?" the man in front of John said harshly "Pathetic . You should not hold such hope when there is none."

"S-Shut up…" John growled. His eyes snapped away from his doctor when the other man approached John. "Stay back!" he shouted and tugged at his bonds, drawing blood. Sherlock forced his nerves to calm and not jump onto John there and then. Why did the Doctor's blood have to have such a divine flavour? He licked his lips, even now though, he could taste the drop of blood that he's had at Baker Street. It lingered on his lips and he moaned. He needed _more_.

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts when the man began to walk out of the room. Sherlock followed and the tall man walked into a separate room. Sherlock stood up straight and closed the door silently behind him. The man whirled and before he could blink, he was on his back with a silver dagger pressed against his throat.

"What the Hell?!" the murderer screeched

"You are a Vampire aren't you?" Sherlock spat when there was no response; he pressed the dagger deeper "ANSWER ME!"

"I am!" the man in the floor squeaked "I'm a Vampire and I killed all those men!"

"You are _sick_" Sherlock growled. Before he pressed his face closer to his prisoner "No one touches John Watson. Do you understand me? He. Is. _Mine_" Sherlock hissed in the man's ear

"I-I'm sorry! It w-won't h-happen again!"

"No, it won't." Sherlock pressed the dagger deeper into the man's throat. The murderer thrashed uselessly before lying still, his eyes were wide and his mouth was formed into a shape of an 'O'

"Nobody touches John" Sherlock snarled and resisted the urge to spit on the body. Sherlock wiped the blood on the shirt of the body before tucking it away in his black jacket. He cleared his throat before getting out a bottle of oil and sprinkling it all over the corpse. He struck a match and then the body burst into flames.

"Let that be a lesson to you." Sherlock muttered before turning and walking back towards the room John was being held in.  
He walked into the room and he saw John's eyes widen

"S-Sherlock!" John exclaimed happily, he sounded like he was going to start crying there and then.

"Stay still" Sherlock said gently and undid the ropes. John stood up before Sherlock could have a taste of the blood across his wrist. The detective resisted the urge to moan in disappointment. Instead, he straightened

"Let's head home." He said in the best Calm voice he could muster.

The cab ride home was slightly awkward for John. He felt that Sherlock's gaze was boring into his skull. He refused to shiver; instead, he rubbed gently on his sore wrists and sighed. Luckily they wouldn't need bandages and they should heal within a few days. He sighed again when the Cab finally came to a halt outside 221 Baker Street.  
He got out of the car and waited patiently as Sherlock unlocked the door and let him be the first to go inside. John smiled slightly before walking up the stairs to their flat. He walked in and was welcomed by a mess of a sight. There were papers everywhere and a shattered mug on the floor.

John moved to the end of the sofa –under the yellow smiley face- and picked up his laptop. He heard the floorboards creak behind him and the next thing John knew, he was being shoved against the wall of the flat, knocking the lamp over and dropping his laptop in the process.

"S-Sherlock?!" John shrieked and struggled against the taller man's –surprisingly strong- grip. Who knew that Sherlock could have this amount of strength for his thin form. Sherlock's eyes were filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry John… I… I can't fight it anymore." The sadness melted and was replaced with lust and insanity. He opened his mouth and John couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped his lips when Sherlock's teeth began to grow. They grew _Deadly_. John had to admit, for the first time, in a very long time, he was scared. No, Terrified!

"Sherlock! What's wrong with you?! L-Let me go!" he gasped "I don't want to hurt you!"

"Well" came a deep voice that couldn't be Sherlock's. It sounded so dark and it sent shivers down the blonde's spine.

"That makes this _so_ much _easier_" Not-So-Sherlock's voice purred. John froze as he felt Sherlock's breath on his neck and dark curls brush his cold cheek. John began to squirm.

"Sh-Sherlock, you've lost it!" he shouted and the other man chuckled at John's fatal attempts to escape. John's heart began to hammer against his chest and his breaths became hitched.

Suddenly, John's vision turned red as Sherlock's fangs bit down onto his neck and sank into the flesh. John couldn't help it.

**He Screamed**


	2. Chapter 2

**Pain**. That was all John could feel. He had stopped screaming moments ago, his throat raw and his body weak from blood loss. He could sense his limps fall weakly by his sides and black splodges decorate his vision. His blood coated hand brushed across cold metal and it took him a few moments to realise it was his gun. And it took nearly all his strength just trying to brag it. Sherlock was still over him, his fangs still embedded in the raw flesh. John raised his gun, his hand shaking, and fired.

He heard a satisfactory howl of pain from Sherlock, who dropped the shorter man who landed roughly on the floor. John's breathing was ragged and black leaked into his vision  
"You are a lot more trouble than you are worth" Sherlock growled as his eyes fixed on John's pitiful form. He wiped his mouth with his good arm.

"Y-You're nnnot Sherlock… anymore" John gasped between breaths despite the pain "H-he's gone..." John saw blood seep through Sherlock's sleeve.

_Damn_ He had only just clipped the taller man's upper arm. John weakly raised his gun as his flatmate walked closer

"If y-you _are_ in there Sherlock… I'm Sorry…" John aimed for Sherlock's heart and pulled the trigger.

A body dropped to the floor and John's arm finally fell loosely to his side, all strength gone. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bleeding form of Sherlock a few inches away. So this was it. He was going to die here; watching his only best friend bleed out in front of him. He let himself lean back against the wall and he sagged. John had no idea how much blood he's lost, but what he did know that he had only a miniscule chance of survival.

_I'm so Sorry Sherlock…_

John had tears fall down his cheeks as he accepted his fate. He allowed the blackness to permanently claim him.


	3. Chapter 3

Eyes snapped open, blinking away the residue of unconsciousness. John Watson gasped and bolted into an upright position as the occasion of last night rushed into his mind. He frowned as his bedroom came into focus.

_Shouldn't I be dead?_

He threw the covers –which had been practically cocooned around his body- over his head and sprinted in front of the mirror in his bathroom. Immediately he was checking his neck where Sherlock's fangs had penetrated. He froze completely. There was nothing. The skin was smooth and showed no evidence of the events that had taken place the evening before. They should have been there! His thoughts were disrupted as the sound of a violin playing filled his ears.

_No, that was impossible_

He would have been mesmerised with the notes if it were not for the one playing it. Slowly, and very cautiously, he walked out of his bathroom, his room and down the stairs. John winced as a loud creak echoed around the flat. The Violin stopped and John froze, paralyzed to the spot. It felt like years before the blonde heard the smooth, and somehow unsettling, sound of the instrument again. He let out a breath he never knew he was holding and continued his journey down the final few stairs.  
He entered the living room and paused at the sight before him. Sherlock stood, back facing the doctor, violin in hand and dressing gown hung loosely on his wiry frame. John shook his head in disbelief and stepped backwards.

_Sherlock is dead, I shot him. I _shot_ him_

His feet tangled with something, causing him to tumble backwards and land on the floor with a loud thump. His breath hitched in his throat.

The Violin stopped playing.


	4. Chapter 4

John scrambled back to his feet as he saw a tall, thin shadow reach out to him. There was the sound of rushing wind in his ears and the next thing he knew, he was leaning against the door frame, gasping and the world tilting alarmingly around him.

"j…n…jh…n… John!" he heard someone shout his name and he opened his eyes that he wasn't aware of closing. He saw Sherlock standing before him, a look of worry etched on his face "John? Can you hear me?"

His instincts kicking in, John pushed Sherlock away and stumbled backwards to the wall. His breathing was quick and his heart was hammering against his ribs. _This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream._That thought continued to repeat in his mind like a broken DVD. John squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, he was still in 221B, with Sherlock getting to his feet.

"John, I need you to calm down otherwise you will go into Shock." Sherlock said calmly

"Y-You can't be here…" John stammered his face growing pale "I shot you…"

"No you didn't" Sherlock replied, approaching John slowly, with a hand outstretched "Don't you remember what happened?" John shook his head and pressed himself further against the wall

"I r-remember we came home and you-you attacked me and-and…" John breath hitched in his throat

"John, calm down." Sherlock stopped a few metres from the shorter man "None of that happened. You were kidnapped. You remember that don't you?" John nodded slowly  
"Yes. Good. And the man, he cut you with a knife while you were in the factory" Sherlock crept a little closer to his flatmate "When I arrived, I made swift work of the murderer and I released you from your bonds. You collapsed a few minutes later due to blood loss. I took you back here, dressed your wound and put you to bed. You have been unconscious ever since"

"How can I know you're not lying?" John stammered, obviously unsure now. Sherlock's story _did_ seem to make sense. Sherlock was now no more than a meter from John

"There is a cut on your left arm under a thick layer of bandages; it is approximately 12 centimetres long and half an inch deep" Sherlock motioned to John's left sleeve. The ex-army doctor slowly tugged up the sleeve and gasped as he saw a layer of bandages he gasped

"Told you" Sherlock voice whispered and John jumped "Sorry…" the detective apologised

"B-But… I shot you and I saw you _dying_…" John stuttered

"None of that happened."

"I mean you _drank_ my _blood_ Sherlock! I felt the agony of it all. I screamed!"

"Please, John, me a _Vampire_?" Sherlock scoffed "That was obviously a nightmare"

"But it felt so real…" John shivered involuntarily

"But it wasn't." Sherlock straightened and held out a hand which John took. Sherlock –with surprising strength- pulled John up. John shivered as the memory of his supposed _nightmare_.

"The Murderer?" John asked finally

"Dead."

"Oh…"

"Erm… Tea? I hear it is one of the best things to have after a nightmare" Sherlock offered and his friend nodded

"Please."

John Watson moved to his sofa and relaxed into t. Everything was back to normal. There was no blood, no Vampire. No nothing.

So then why did he still have doubt lingering in the back of his mind?


	5. Chapter 5

~~A Few Days Later~~

John Watson stretched, his limbs stretching out and his bones giving a satisfying pop. He rolled his shoulders and got up from his bed, feeling more revitalized than he had been for the past few days. His skin seemed to be glowing with Health and he woke up with a smile on his face.

The past few days had been uneventful. There had been the odd case; however all were solved within a few hours. Was there no limit to Sherlock's skills? The answer? No.  
John swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood up straight. When his feet touched the floor shivered. Only now had he realised how bitterly cold it was in the flat, he rubbed his arms through his sleeves as he stood up and reached for his dressing gown behind his door. He swiftly placed it on, shuddering. He opened his door and walked down the stairs to the living room.

"Sherlock?" John called, thinking Sherlock was awake "Why is it so cold?" When he received no answer, he peered into the living room and saw Sherlock lying on the couch, sleeping.

"Oh" John whispered, mentally face palming for shouting. It was rare to see Sherlock ever sleep, so John left him to it. He turned on the heating, rubbing his hands for warmth. Tea would warm him right up.

A thought occurred to John and he trotted quietly to his flatmate's room, grabbed the duvet off the bed and was out in a few seconds. He went back down to the living room and gently lay the blanket over his friend who purred in comfort and lay on his side. John chuckled fondly at the reaction and walked to the kitchen, turning on the kettle happily. Once the water had boiled, John made his tea and made his way to the other sofa and relaxing into it. The morning paper was on the table.

Thanking Mrs Hudson, John took the paper and began reading quietly while sipping his tea. It had been 5 minutes, and the flat had warmed up nicely, until John looked up to the sound of his friend shifting and letting out a groan. Sherlock's arm fell out of the protection of the sheet and lay suspended a few centimetres from the ground, his fingers almost brushing it.

John frowned as his eyes caught on something. He stood up and walked to his friend. On closer inspection on the exposed arm, John's eyes widened and he covered his mouth so he wouldn't scream. The shout was muffled and came out as a hiss of air. On Sherlock's arm was an unmistakable scar of a bullet wound.

**A bullet from John's gun.**


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock woke up to the sound of what was like the sound of compressed air being released into the room. His eyes opened slowly and he immediately knew something wasn't right.  
John was standing in front of him, his eyes wide and filled with terror and a hand over his mouth.

"John what's wro-" Sherlock began but he stopped himself as he realised his scar from the events of before was visible. "John, I can explain" he said hurriedly

"Explain?!" John screamed. In his voice there were hints of horror and sadness "You attacked me Sherlock! It was never a dream was it?! It was real! I actually nearly died in this goddamn flat!" John's voice was rising "You're a Vampire!"

Sherlock got up from the couch despite his body groaning in protest and reached out to John. The soldier recoiled away and Sherlock ignored the pang of hurt in his heart.

"John I-"

"No, you stay back!" John shouted; staggered backwards and Sherlock withdrew his hand

"Please, John. Just listen to me-"

"Listen to you? Listen to you?! You're a Monster Sherlock!"

Those words cut deep into Sherlock's chest and he hesitated before nodded agonisingly slowly. The pain in his chest hurt a lot but he ignored it and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You're right, John. I'm a freak. I… am a… _Monster_." Sherlock looked to the floor miserably, tears forming in his eyes "And I don't blame you if you leave…" Sherlock looked up as he heard the flat door shut loudly and the sound rushed feet going down the stairs and out of the building with the slam of a door.

**John Watson was gone.**

The only Consulting Detective in the World, curled up on the floor and sobbed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi there! *waves frantically* **

**I just wanted to say a HUGE Thank You to Everyone who has Followed, Faved and Reviewed! It's thanks to you guys I'm here!**

* * *

John Watson's breathing was raggedy as he left the flat in an ecstasy of fumbling and stumbling down the stairs in a rush to get as far away as Sherlock and the flat that was to be his grave a few days ago. He tugged at his sandy hair and whimpered

_**"John I-"**_

"No, you stay back!"

"Please, John. Just listen to me-"

"Listen to you? Listen to you?! You're a Monster Sherlock!" /strong

He shivered at the memory… Was it a Memory? It was shocking to believe it had only happened 5 minutes ago. Where did that term come from anyway?

_Come on John_ a voice in his head began _Sherlock's your friend. Surely that's worth something?_

"Shut up" John growled at the voice and pulled his coat tighter around himself as a bitter wind began brewing

_Sherlock jumped off Saint Barts to save your life a year ago, John. He was willing to die for you!_ John began to think he was going mad, he was having an argument. With himself.

**_"You're right, John. I'm a freak. I… am a… Monster. And I don't blame you if you leave…" _**

"But he was gone for 2 years!/strong John countered to the voice "He let me mourn him!"

_It was to keep you safe as he tried to hunt down people who were a threat to you! If he didn't care about you, he would never have bothered to come back!_

"I said shut up!" John spat coldly "He nearly killed me; He's a Vampire!" he seethed quietly, ignoring the weird looks he was getting from passer-by's

_That may be the case, however if he were trying to kill you purposely, surely he would have killed you while you were unconscious? _  
John stopped dead in his tracks  
_He may be a Vampire, but deep down, you know he cares for you. Think about it, John. Why didn't he kill you sooner if he had the power to do so? Why would he bother to act as your friend for so long? That is, unless he is your friend_ John thought for a few moments

"If he actually _did_ want to kill me then he would have done it a long time ago… So he actually cares about me."

_About time you got it_ the voice started sounding awfully like Sherlock

"Oh my God…" John breathed and he turned on his heel. He broke into a fast run back to Baker Street. "What have I done?!"

John burst through 221 Baker Street's door which nearly knocked poor Mrs Hudson over

"I'm so sorry!" John exclaimed and helped steady the older woman. He kept apologising until he realised Mrs Hudson looked very shaken

"Mrs Hudson? What's wrong? Are you ill?" John asked, worried for the wellbeing of the housekeep-Landlady.

"It's Sherlock! It sounds like he's being attacked up there! I'm going to call the police!"  
"No need for that, they'll be too late" John gaze left the stairs and he looked back to the landlady "Whatever happens, do _not_ go to our flat."

And with that, he treaded up the stairs, leaving a worried Mrs Hudson to wait.

As John approached the living room, he pulled out his pistol and unlatched the safety. To be honest, he had no idea why he had his weapon on him in the first place. He took a deep breath before barging into the room and pointed his gun at empty air. He narrowed his eyes before striding quietly into the, otherwise vacant, kitchen.

He refused to yell for his friend in case someone was indeed in the house. With a final look, he walked up the stairs and to Sherlock's room. It was slightly ajar but the inside was almost pitch black and eerily quiet. Dread filled John. Was Sherlock dead?

John's hand hovered over the wood, contemplating whether to barge in or just hightail it out of here and never look back. He withdrew his hand and stepped back. Maybe he_should_. Perhaps it would be best to just leave, it's not like he would be running with my tail between his legs… Right?

**No.** John's soldier side mentally kicked **Sherlock is your friend, he died and came back for you. Are you really going to leave him after all that you've been through?**John tugged at his hair and let out a quiet breath

"He's right…" he whispered to nobody in particular. He breathed in and readied his gun, he thrust open the door and ran inside.

He looked around the room, his attack stance ready. But after a few moments, he stood straight; broke his posture and paled.

He gazed at the utter destruction around him. Furniture had been flung across the room; paper littered the floor even the bed had been tipped over onto its side. John inspected the desecrated room a second time before he noticed something odd about the shredded and torn wallpaper. _The rips were forming words_.

John approached the nearest one and his eyes widened. It read

_Freak_

He walked backwards and looked at the others

_Abomination_

Monstrosity

Freak Again

_Weird_

Abnormal

Mutant

Hell Spawn

Grotesque

Beast

Monster  


John nearly let out a sob at the final one he read

_**Unloved**_

The army doctor covered his mouth. All of those words decorated the walls and even the ceiling of the bedroom. Each repeated over and over again and it made the army-doctor's head spin sickeningly. John looked around for the third time and his eyes caught on a huddled figure on the floor in the far most corner. He could make out a mop of dark curly hair.

"Sherlock…?" he whispered, not recognising his own voice. It used to be so bold and strong, but now it was strangled and weak. "Sherlock?" he called out again, his voice a little louder but the figure did not stir.

John approached his flatmate slowly and around the furniture that lay abandoned on the floor. Once finally behind Sherlock, the blonde placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. The reaction was immediate.

The Consulting Detective whirled, letting out a loud, inhumane snarl. John removed his hand from Sherlock's shoulder and involuntarily stepped back.  
Sherlock's eyes were crimson red and his teeth were barred ferociously. John noticed the shock in Sherlock's eyes and the detective's fangs retracted and his eyes returned to their normal, ocean colour.

"J-John…?" Sherlock whispered, recoiling further into the wall, alarmed. "I hurt you again, didn't I? I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"Sherlock, you didn't hurt me" Sherlock looked into John's eyes

"I… d-didn't?" he stammered and John's heart clenched at the sight in front him. Never before had he imagined that Sherlock would be acting like… like _this_. Sherlock spoke up, his voice hoarse from crying

"I know you wish to leave this life behind… I know you think I am Weird and a Monstrosity. But, please, John" the Vampire whimpered pitifully "Don't leave me like all the others…_P-Please"_ Sherlock was pretty much sobbing at this stage "I-I don't want to be alone anymore…"

"Why did you never tell me Sherlock?" John cocked his head to the side  
"I was…scared…"

"Scared of what?"

"I just was" Sherlock snapped, his voice was nowhere near intimidating due to the tears in his eyes

"That's not a good enough reason, Sherlock. Why didn't you tell me?"  
"I just didn't want to!"

"Why didn't you ever tell me the truth?" John repeated sternly, his voice rising and his eyes growing hard

"**I WAS SCARED BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU'D LEAVE ME!**"


	8. Chapter 8

~~Flashback~~

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he groaned in pain. His eyes began to adjust to the light and he frowned. _Why was he on the floor?_ His eyes widened and he remembered what happened

**OH GOD**

Sherlock looked down at his body and finally realised he was covered in blood. And most of it wasn't his. He stood upon shaky legs and he finally spotted John.  
The blonde was caked in blood that soaked through his clothes and pooled at the floor. The wound on his neck was covered in crusty bits of blood and a gun was by his side.

**No, No, No, No, No! What have I done?!**

Sherlock dived to John side and checked for a pulse on the still man's neck and found nothing.

**Please, No**

Sherlock put an ear to John's still chest and then he heard it.

_Thump_

A heartbeat. So faint, not even a Human could hear it. But, Sherlock wasn't _human_; not even close. Sherlock put a thumb in his mouth and then removed it when it was slick with saliva before spreading it around the puncture wounds on John's pale neck. Almost immediately, the wounds faded until they disappeared. Sherlock sighed with relief before getting up and stumbling weakly into the kitchen to get the first aid kit he horridly wrapped a bandage around John's injury that he had sustained in captivity before doing his own wounds. Using the same treatment with his saliva.

Once the wounds were merely scars he picked John up and the man groaned. Sherlock took him to his room and got a wet towel to clean the blood on John's skin. Once clean, Sherlock began to undress John gingerly and fetching a pair of Pyjama's. By this time, Sherlock was blushing wildly, as he had finally finished. He heard John groan in his sleep and his face twist uncomfortably ashe cocooned his friend in blankets.  
Sherlock hesitantly moved and kissed John delicately on the forehead, suddenly relaxing the soldier. He murmured something under his breath

"I love you…" Sherlock whispered before heading back into the living room, closing the door quietly behind him. He threw the blood-stained clothes in the washing machine and cleaned every drop of blood from the floor, walls and whatever other object had been stained.

Once he had finished he scanned the flat in case there was anything he missed. Of course he didn't miss anything. He's Sherlock Holmes. The arrogant bastard who never misses _anything_

Sherlock sat down on the couch, got into a comfortable position, and waited.


End file.
